Dramaturge v. Drayman

Barking's heard late that night. The next morning the Dramaturge finds the dog sniffing at something to the east. He walks over and spots the Grave Digger sprawled unconscious on the grass by the edge of the forest, his shirt ripped, his body bruised and lightly scarred, but otherwise intact. After having a mug of creek water dumped over his head, the Grave Digger wakes with an annoyed start.

This world doesn't need more hobos, says the Dramaturge severely.

The Grave Digger, too sore of mind and body to snarl, smacks his dry lips. He musters enough energy to sit up, pulling his legs into a crossed position, head slung low.

The schnauzer watches expressionless from a few feet away.

Get more water, mouths the Grave Digger.

The Dramaturge thinks of balking, but gets the distressed man his water from the creek. He drinks quickly, then leans back.

I'm no drunk, says the Grave Digger.

The Dramaturge asks what happened. The Grave Digger shakes his head in a disappointed way, as if trying to shaming a student out of recalcitrance.

I don't know what they did with him....

With who?

The Grave Digger pulls on the Dramaturge's sleeve. He looks up, eyes bloodshot. It's all a game of chess! he seethes.

The Dramaturge eventually helps the Grave Digger to his feet. He carries him to the cabin, where he's bedded.

The Drayman arrives the next monrning, greeted by the schnauzer and the Dramaturge, while the Grave Digger sleeps. The Drayman wears a band of red ribbon around his left arm, and smells of gin.

Draftsman v. Dramaturge

The Draftsman, using pencil and the blank pages of a notepad left on Stetson's desk, sketches the growing bodies of the dead.

He recognizes this as a somewhat morbid activity, but chalks it up as cathartic.

I did just kill a man in an honorable duel, he says sadly. What better way to extend his mortality - if even so feebly - than through art.

Unfortunately, being so habituated to the style of technical draftsmanship, regardless of how many attempts the Draftsman makes to represent the Doorman's grotesque corpse with emotion and nuance, the image looks less like a page from the notebook of Caspar David Friedrich than the preliminary spec for a high-end anamatronic car test dummy.

Sleep on, sweet prince, sighs the Draftsman, regarding his work tearfully.

Next morning:

The Dramaturge's flight from the city is cancelled due to heavy rainstorms. He waits in the airport for close to an eternity. When he arrives to the dueling grounds he's not interested in anything apart from dueling.